


Gravity

by micehell



Category: Highlander: The Series, Sports Night
Genre: Danny doesn't have the best coping strategies, M/M, Methos is helpful though, odd crossover is odd, the rape is only attempted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-24
Updated: 2007-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-12 23:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: Not all stalkers are maybe-Mandy and not all heroes wear white hats, but Danny is not in the least justmaybeglad to meet Methos.
Relationships: Danny/Methos, OMC+Danny
Kudos: 4





	Gravity

Danny had told them he had a stalker, but did anyone believe him? Of course not. He was just crazy Danny, and they had all just joked about Mandy or whatever the hell her name was and then ignored him like usual. But Danny hadn't been able to ignore it, not when the bastard had grabbed him after work, hitting him in the face to knock him down before throwing him in his car.

He'd got away, somewhere around the Park, and hadn't that just been the icing on the cake, because there was no way Danny was calling for help around here. Might as well asked to be raped and killed, and the stalker already seemed to have that covered, if the things he'd been saying as he tore at Danny's clothes were anything to go by.

So he has only the one shoe, a shirt with no buttons left on it, pants that were too torn to do more than cling lightly to his hips, which left him with one hand knotted on his waistband, the other desperately gripping the gun he'd managed to grab from the stalker. This isn't good, he tells himself, and almost laughs, because that is the understatement of the year. He's shaking, too, and the gun is jittering so much that he's not sure he could hit the Park, forget one guy trolling through it looking for him.

Danny's been trying to avoid finding out what he could hit, but the stalker's there now, walking towards him, a sly, sick grin on a face already marred by a scar that runs along one side. There's a swagger in the guy's step, and there's no fear on that face, even when Danny aims the gun right at him. "Go ahead and shoot, pretty boy. Your gun can't hurt me." He gives an exaggerated thrust of his hips, saying, "But my gun can do plenty of things to you."

If the situation weren't so fucking serious, that would have made Danny laugh, because, fuck, was the guy five or something? But there's no laughter in Danny right now, only fear, and he's backing away even as he says, "Just stay back."

The stalker doesn't listen to him any more than the others ever do, intent on his prize, but Danny has no intention of being fair reward. His intentions become pointless, though, when he falls over something he can't see behind him. It's not so much the darkness, because the city, even shrouded by trees, isn't ever completely dark, but then Danny's never been the most graceful of people, and walking backwards isn't really one of his talents.

He manages to keep hold of the gun as he falls, manages not to fire by accident, but it's a near thing, and the stalker's already moving by the time Danny's able to look for him. He does fire now, not an accident, and even though it's an awkward angle, even though the gun's kickback is stronger than he'd imagined it'd be, even though he's never wanted to fire a gun, and can barely hold it, he gets lucky, so fucking lucky. The bullet hole is perfectly visible even in the dim light, almost perfectly centered in the guy's head as he stands there looking shocked, before gravity and death finally win, pulling him to the ground in a crumpled heap, like laundry that someone's thrown away.

If he'd ever imagined this scenario, he'd have probably imagined himself getting up to double check on what he's done, to verify that's it's over, but all he can do is roll over, everything he's ever eaten in his entire life spewing out of him like he was Linda Blair's clone. It hurts, far more than it should, and Danny feels a strong desire for his mother's arms, which is silly considering she was never the hugging type. Eventually there's nothing left inside, and he falls back, thinking he really should go and look. He figures you should always look at a life you took, face what you've done -- he'd made himself look at Sam, before they'd buried him -- but he can't move, utterly exhausted.

Even without looking, he's pretty sure he's killed the guy -- bullet holes in heads usually being a pretty good clue on that -- which is why Danny's surprised when he finds the stalker standing over him again. He knows he's a little hysterical when he thinks, what the fuck, is this is horror movie, because the guy was dead, really most sincerely dead? And wouldn't it just figure that Danny would get cast as the screaming, half-naked girl who always bought it first, but even with that thought, Danny can't help but scream when the guy drops on him, hands ripping at cloth, gripping too tightly on flesh, and, even knowing better, Danny desperately hopes that the scream will bring someone to help.

He has Danny's pants down to his knees when the stalker stops, looking around, and even though Danny doesn't know what he's heard, he sends thanks to the Big Guy, just hoping that whatever help that's arrived is here for him, and not for the stalker. Though, really, it would be just Danny's luck that this would turn into a party.

But if it's a party, it's the quiet kind, only a tiny phfft sounding before the stalker goes stiff, and then there's blood everywhere, raining down on Danny, filling his mouth as he can't help but scream again as the guy collapses on top of him.

Before Danny can decide what he should do now, the stalker's pulled away, freeing him, and he thinks he should get up, that he should run while he can, but his pants are around his knees, his shirt tangling up his arms, and his muscles are made of water, of blood, not capable of any movement but shaking.

He hears a voice -- a nice voice, British, his mind, fascinating on inconsequential details, tells him -- say, "Bloody hell, it's not the right one. Oh, well, his loss, my headache." It's nonsense, Danny thinks, but then the world dissolves into lightning and screaming, and Danny doesn't want to think anymore, letting the darkness that follows take him down.

::::::::::

Danny wakes to someone leaning over him, and he shies away, sure that it's the stalker come to life again, but the face isn't the same one. This one's unmarked by scars or much of time, wearing a curious look as he watches Danny. The face isn't traditionally good-looking, not with a nose that's even longer than Danny's, but there's something about it that's appealing to him, and Danny has to remember to be wary, not sure that his savior is one. An amused smile appears on the guy's face, apparently well aware of what Danny's thinking, apparently approving it.

"Who are you?" His voice is rough from the screaming, from the blood, but it's clear enough to get that question out.

"Adam." It's a succinct answer, and doesn't tell Danny much, but then what could Adam have said in a couple of sentences that would tell Danny what he really needs to know. He has to take that knowledge from the fact that Adam could already have had anything he wanted of Danny, and yet had only smiled at him. So far.

He gleans other information from watching Adam as he helps Danny get up, helps fasten his clothes around him as much as he can. There's no body around, no gun, which means he's pretty good at hiding things. He's certainly not a novice at it. This should frighten Danny, but doesn't somehow. That might be because even though Adam doesn't look any older than him, there's something about the eyes that makes him seem ancient, the original Adam made flesh before him. Loss, Danny thinks. This man knows all about loss.

He lets Adam take him home, assiduously avoiding the subject of what happened. There are some things Danny doesn't want to think about, and this is pretty near the top of the list. He instinctively knows that Adam handled things in a way that means that Danny won't ever have to think of it again, and that's just something else to be grateful for. That and the stream of conversation Adam throws at him during the ride. It's a lot like being in the car with Casey when he got on a tear -- loads of trivia and opinions and little need to for Danny to do more than nod now and then, and sit back and listen. Adam's voice is as good as Danny first thought, rich, and it strokes over his nerves like a balm, letting him know he's not alone, that he's safe. Why Danny thinks Adam's safe he doesn't question, even though he's well aware there're dangerous things about the man, the innocuous appearance he presents not withstanding.

By the time they get to his apartment, he's no longer wary at all, letting Adam in without a qualm, letting the near monologue that reveals so much, and not much at all, draw him into the bathroom, where Adam gets him cleaned up, the cuts and bruises tended. Then Danny lets himself be dressed -- like a very large doll -- and put to bed -- like a very small child -- because it doesn't require anything of him, and Danny doesn't have much left to give right now.

He does have one thing, though, something he's thought about on the long ride home, thought about as large, strong hands touched him with care, and he puts his hand on Adam's arm as he starts to leave, holding him there. If he's reading the signs wrong, this will be awkward, but that amused smile is back in place and Danny knows he hasn't.

"You've just had a traumatic time of things. I hardly think this is in your best interests now."

That's true, and Danny knows it. What had almost happened tonight had happened before, back when he was first in college and his grief over Sam made him careless, reckless, almost welcoming the pain. But it hadn't stopped him from sleeping around then, his need for something -- acceptance, love, hell, just having someone look at him with something other than disappointment and grief -- driving him on, even when fear sometimes made even the consensual sex painful. But he wasn't frightened now; he was too far past it. He was sore and tired and he'd had enough of life throwing curve balls at him that he had no way of hitting. He was tired of one night stands with guys who were so drunk they wouldn't remember him the next day. He was tired of fucking women who were so enamored of the TV star, they didn't even see Danny at all. He was tired of Rebecca trying to get back what she'd so effortlessly thrown away.

But mainly he was tired of Casey saying things like, "Danny, we can't." Things like, "What about our careers?" and "Charlie's so young. He wouldn't understand." Because Danny knows it isn't the career or the kid, though those are valid issues. But they already spend so much time together, act like such an old married couple, that no one would notice anything different if they actually were an old married couple. No, the problem was that Casey didn't want to be that guy. The problem was that Casey had been denying what he was for so long that he couldn't find his way back out of the closet with a map and a guide and bright neon arrows pointing the way home.

Danny's tired of being alone. He keeps his hand around the arm leaning on the bed, asks, "Do you really care what my best interests are?"

Adam actually considers it, his face moving rapidly through a series of thoughts and emotions that Danny can't follow. Finally he settles for wry laughter. "Yes, I do. You see, I have this friend who's something of a Boy Scout…" he trails off, just giving a _what can you do?_ shrug.

And that touches something in Danny, that this near complete stranger would watch out for Danny's back in a way that so few people ever have. Maybe Adam doesn't remind him of Casey after all, but rather Isaac, though that's a thought that Danny doesn't really need right now. Not when he wants to do this, pushing up to meet Adam's lips, warm and surprised, but open against his.

Adam looks at him, curious, still amused. "Daniel, are you sure? I mean, if it's just a matter of my overwhelming good looks, I understand." He winks, making a joke of it, even though he's confident enough to know it's somewhat true. "But it's not like we couldn't see how things go later, when you were more… settled."

A diplomatic way of putting it, but Danny doesn't want to wait. He needs this now, regardless of how bad an idea it is. Later he'll be scared. Later he'll have to deal with what happened, what didn't. But now, while he was still numb, now, while he was so fucking tired of everything, he wants someone to hold him with care and heat and need, and so many other things that are struggling to get out of the pit that Danny's thrown his own needs into. "Please," is all he says.

The arm under his turns, sliding up to link their hands, and another kiss follows, soft and friendly, and Adam doesn't say anything more. He pushes Danny back on the bed, stripping away the t-shirt and pajamas that he'd so recently put in place, then standing to strip his own clothes away. It's just a matter of getting naked, no show, but the touch that follows is star material. It's firm and smooth, and it almost feels like Adam has extra hands, they seem to be all over Danny at once. He tries to reciprocate, but Adam just puts his hands back down by his sides, a little extra pressure telling Danny to keep them there. This is all for you, he doesn't say, but Danny hears it anyway. It makes him smile, then groan as lips follow the hands.

Adam gently nips at his nipples, but it's just a momentary distraction on his way down, and he has his hand around the base of Danny's hard, so hard, cock when those lips close over the top of it, making him gasp and squirm. It's good, it's amazing, it's fucking splendiferous, is what Danny's thinking, but then his brain shuts down to anything but pleasure, to everything but the feel of wet and suction and just a hint of teeth until Danny can't hold back anymore, his hips pushing hard into that perfect mouth as he comes and comes.

But he doesn't want to be alone, he doesn't want to be in this alone, and he pulls Adam up to him, fingers clutching an ass that really, really deserves more attention than it's gotten. Adam doesn't need a map, or neon arrows, or even more than a second before he's grinding himself down onto Danny's hip, his cock sliding into the groove there, the thrusts smoothing out as pre-ejaculate eases the way, and even though Danny's already come, this feels great, this feels like the best thing ever, Adam's face gone taut and amazed as he comes, collapsing on top of Danny. The weight on him, almost trapping him, makes Danny a little nervous, but the warmth is welcome, and the slowing breath in his ear is a connection that he still needs.

It ends too soon, Adam getting up to get a wash cloth, wiping them both down, and Danny's trying to figure out a way to ask him to stay without sounding even more needy than he already has, but it turns out to be unnecessary when Adam climbs into the bed beside him, pulling the covers up over them both before drawing Danny closer, arms loosely draped over him as he gives Danny a quick peck on the forehead. "Go to sleep."

There's things they should probably talk about, things that Danny would like to say, about what this means to him, what he might like for it to mean, but his tongue's a weight in his mouth that won't move and gravity is making his thoughts too heavy to think, so Danny does what he's told for once, sinking down into sleep, hoping that Adam will still be there in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago for the world's biggest Josh Charles fan (and while not the biggest Peter Wingfield fan, still, hmm, top 8 ;) just for fun. She's not with us anymore, but I still miss her, so when I found this again by accident, well... just for fun.


End file.
